If Only I Had Made This Up

I can't believe this is actually happening to me.

I'm sitting here in a McDonald's, waiting for The Boy to be done with Scouts.

Conversation at the table next to me, two late teens:

"I know this girl, she know how to work the government."
"Really?"
"Yeah. She got her checks, she gets them to pay for her gas, and she ends up with money at the end and she don't even have to work."
"Sweet."

Have. Mercy.

Sunday Sentiments: Help Thou My Unbelief

And they brought the boy to him. And when the spirit saw him, immediately it convulsed the boy, and he fell on the ground and rolled about, foaming at the mouth. And Jesus asked his father, “How long has this been happening to him?” And he said, “From childhood.  And it has often cast him into fire and into water, to destroy him. But if you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.” And Jesus said to him, “‘If you can’! All things are possible for one who believes.” Immediately the father of the child cried out and said, “I believe; help my unbelief!”  Mark 9:20-24 (ESV)

We're in the middle of dealing with a situation that needs much prayer. And involves waiting on a reply from a third party.

And while everything in me pleads, "Believe! Believe when you pray! Know that God is going to do a good thing!" there is this unbelief that rears its ugly head. "You've been down this road before. God has said No before, surely it will be no this time. Don't get your hopes up."

This is my struggle. And so yesterday, in the quiet hours of the morning,  I turned to a passage that - strangely - gives me great comfort. When the desperate father brings his son for healing, he cries out to Jesus: "I believe; help my unbelief!" The passion of a father for a child, seeking answers, but feeling weak in his flesh.

Consider this encouraging word from Jerry Bridges:

It’s true, however, that oftentimes the situation at hand looms larger in our minds than the promises of God. We then find it difficult to believe the promises. In those times, I find the words of the father of a demon-possessed son encouraging: ‘I believe; help my unbelief!’ (Mark 9:24). There is a vast difference between stubborn unbelief such as was demonstrated by the people of Jesus’ hometown, Nazareth (see Mark 6:5-6), and the struggling faith of the son’s father. God honors our struggles, and the Holy Spirit will help us. The important issue is that we seek to honor God through our faith, even though weak and faltering, rather than dishonoring Him through rank unbelief.”

Standing on the promises this Sunday, and praying God to help me in my unbelief.

(almost) Wordless Wednesday: You have GOT to be kidding me

Name that item!

Only in Alabama, folks, only in Alabama.

(Sorry for the bad quality: it's a camera-phone picture!)

Sunday Sentiments: His Eye is on the Sparrow. . . . . and on Craigslist!

"Consider the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.  Are you not of more value than they?" (Matthew 6:26)


4 years or so ago, we put our house on the market. That's a story for another place and time (and definitely another blog post!), but part of the process involved looking for more updated appliances for our kitchen.

So I started looking.  "Craigslist!" exclaimed my very enthusiastic, thrifty friend.

And since her house looks like something directly out of a magazine - for literally pennies - I was inclined to listen to her advice.

As I was searching, I happened to come across a wall oven to replace our outdated model. It was a very odd size, and rather small. But the mysterious owner promised that it worked well, and was indeed the correct size. Once we got past the "generic Craigslist email" service, this nice woman and I started conversing.

And then we realized - we had a TON of friends in common! Her husband worked at an inner-city school sponsored by our church, and his college roommate was a friend of my husband's.

Crazy, no?

No.

And in God's wonderful Providence, who shows up at our Sunday School class today?

This. Same. Couple.

At a time when I was - honestly - needing a little encouragement myself, in walks The Oven Owner, the Oven Owner's Husband, and their two kids.

What a joy to tell her that I pray for her when I cook on that wonderful, fabulous, slightly-dirty (sorry, Mom!), perfectly functioning, well-used oven!

Turns out, she's in need of a little encouragement herself. I love how God does that.  I'm hoping we can meet up for coffee or something soon. . . . . . . .

All because God has His eye on the sparrow. . . . . . .

And on Craigslist!

(P.S. What song was presented as the offertory this morning? Yup. You guessed it: His Eye is On the Sparrow. Love. It.)

I quit facebook for THIS??!!!

Yup. It's true.

I gave up facebook for a while, because I was wasting too much time.

So what have I done for most of the day?

This.

Watched a giraffe in South Carolina prepare to give birth.

But it's not wasting time, it's educational!

Riiiiiiiiiight.

When Mrs. Fix-It Can't

Sometimes, Mom can't fix everything, even when she wants to.

I have a running joke with friends of mine, fellow moms walking the path of parenting young adults; "Wasn't it easier when we could just feed them a cracker, wipe their bottoms, and put them in bed?"

And it was.

Kind of.

Although we didn't think so at the time.

So now we listen. And watch, And pray.

We pray for wisdom, for when to speak up and when to remain silent.

We pray for patience, to let our mighty God work in the lives of these precious ones, these "not-a-childs" who wear the mask of adulthood, but so easily slide into the heart-places, where crackers and  warm blankies make it all better.

We pray for grace, to extend to them and to ourselves.

And we pray with hearts broken and arms open, wrestling with the Lord on their behalf, interceding when there is nothing else to do.

But watch.

And wait.

And trust.

That the God of all comfort will indeed comfort them in their afflictions, no matter how large or how trivial, and that their hearts will continue to be captured and tuned to sing His Marvelous praise.

Resting in Him tonight, and resting in the promise that He will work all things together for good, for those who love Him and are called according to His purpose (Romans 8:28).

And that is the best fix-it plan of all.

Stranger in a Strange Land

7 years ago, our family had just moved south from New England. A kind-hearted woman brought over a casserole. She was "on her way to the game", and wanted to drop it by before she headed out of town.

"What game?" I asked, honestly curious.

Incredulous stare. Disbelief.

I didn't get it, clearly. And in some respects, I still don't.

It's football season here in Alabama. The time of year when people's lives revolve around The Game. Friday night high school games and Saturday college games, there are parties, tailgating, Homecoming dances, bands, parades, cheerleaders, pep rallies, and who-knows-what-all.

Look. I was drum major of my high school marching band (and marched WITH a broken heel, thankyouverymuch). I understand how the game is played. It's fun. It can be exciting. I get that. But what I don't get - and may never get - is how the game of football becomes part of the warp and woof of a life, how you schedule an entire season around what 2 teams do to a little brown pigskin.

During the fall, I feel most alone. Not depressingly so, but keenly aware that 95% of the culture shares something that I simply don't understand. I'll go to the local homecoming game to watch our friends' sons play, and watch and cheer. But all the while, deep inside, I feel like I'm pretending. It's hard to explain, but I always leave football games pretty melancholy.

And - mostly - I'm ok with that.  Soon enough, the world will right itself again. I'll rejoin the conversation, rejoin the social scene, and find myself more in step with those around me.

For now, I just need to be content with my lot. Those of you who are native to the South most likely don't get why this even warrants a blog post. Those of you from the North can't imagine that there even exists a culture so permeated by 4 quarters of offense and defense that they put rally flags out their windows and tiger tails on their cars. (I'm NOT making this up, northern friends. Really.)

But maybe -just maybe - there is someone reading who can relate.

And maybe- just maybe - my friends who are believers in Jesus can relate to this feeling in a whole different way. Being a part of the world, but not really of it any longer, we long for Jesus, we long for heaven, we long for a world made right and new and whole.

Where everyone is united in worship of that which is Right and True and Good. . . .  . .

. . . . . and it's not football. 

It's Jesus. 

And the longing in my heart to belong, to truly feel at home, reminds me

that I was meant for more than this world.

So when the melancholy starts, when the loneliness sets in, it is my prayer that God would use it to turn my heart more towards Him, and to set my mind on things above. Anyone want to join me?

This world is not my home I'm just a passing through
My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue
The angels beckon me from heaven's open door
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore